In Heaven then, before our birth,

an angel would question our worth,

In the quiet, young and nescient earth,

he observed with neither hope, nor mirth

Around him then, the winds they whirled,

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with malice in his heart impearled,

and then at dusk, black wings unfurled,

before him, hell, the unseen world.

Pandemonium seethes and crawls,

with shadows in its cloistered walls,

He surges through thunder and squalls,

Until, like lightning then, he falls.